


You Better Be Good To That Girl

by theothersusan



Category: Ocean's (Movies)
Genre: Debbie getting her shit together, F/F, Heist Wives, Lou is even more awesome than anyone realized, for a genius Debbie can be a real idiot, more angst than my usual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-06-01 02:17:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15132893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theothersusan/pseuds/theothersusan
Summary: Actually, Debbie, the food on the Inside is not better than most people think.





	You Better Be Good To That Girl

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to think of this as a prequel to "Lou Miller's Home for Wayward Girls," I'd be cool with that, but hopefully it works as a one-shot as well.

Somehow it just never occurred to Debbie that she might run into anyone from Inside once she was back in the real world.

But one Saturday four months after the Toussaint heist, in the middle of the toothpaste aisle, she hears a familiar voice call her name.

“Debbie? Debbie Ocean? Lord, honey, I almost didn’t know you without your jumpsuit!” The southern accent is unmistakable, as is the blue-rinsed beehive hairdo now heaving into view around a towering display of denture adhesive. “Do you remember me? From the cafeteria?”

“Yeah, Eunice, I remember you,” Debbie answers, smiling in spite of herself. She seriously doubts that anyone who passed through the chow line at Nichols Women’s Prison has ever forgotten Eunice. The beehive requires three hair nets, and the personality simply cannot be contained. “How have you been?”

“Older and tireder, honey, older and tireder. But you look good! Freedom agreeing with you?”

“It is, yes.”

“Good, good! You keep your nose clean, hear? I don’t want to be seeing you in my line again.”

“No, ma’am,” Debbie agrees, because she was totally expecting the warning.

Then the conversation takes a turn that Debbie definitely was  _ not _ expecting.

“And you better be good to that girl of yours, too.”

Debbie is genuinely perplexed. There were exactly three other inmates in Nichols with whom she was ever even on speaking terms, and she can’t imagine Eunice (who Debbie is pretty sure is smart as a whip, all appearances to the contrary) having mistaken one of them for her girlfriend.

“Uhm…”

Eunice’s expression goes steely. “Deborah Nicole Ocean, did you break up with that girl? After all she done for you?”

“I haven’t broken up with anyone,” Debbie says hastily.

Eunice’s ruffled feathers settle back into place. “I should hope not. She’s good people. Reminds me of my Harold, that Lou.”

And Debbie just about loses her teeth, because  _ Eunice knows Lou, _ and  _ what the actual fuck? _

Eunice prattles on for another minute or two, and Debbie makes polite noises in all the right places, even promising to give Lou a hug for Eunice, because Eunice apparently misses hearing from her. Then Eunice is gone, leaving behind a thick fog of Aqua Net fumes and one very befuddled con artist.

* * *

 

Lou is in the kitchen when Debbie returns to the loft, staring into the fridge as if she’s hoping some seafood might have magically followed her home from California.

“I ran into Eunice at Wal-Mart,” Debbie says, plunking her bags down on the breakfast counter. “She sends love and hugs.”

“That sounds like Eunice,” Lou says absently, then closes her eyes and swears under her breath. “Shit. I can’t believe I fell for that.”

“Who else was on your payroll?” Debbie demands.

Lou closes the fridge and turns to set her back against it, crossing her arms across her chest with a sigh of resignation. “Deena, obviously. Kayla in the mail room. LaNeisha in custodial services. Nurse Andrews. Brenda.”

“Brenda from D-Block? She put me in the infirmary!”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic. She gave you a black eye.”

“You paid her to hit me?!”

“I paid her,” Lou enunciates clearly, “to make sure no one  _ else _ hit you.”

Debbie drops gracelessly onto one of the tall stools and stares at the countertop as so many things she should have wondered about (but never did) suddenly make sense. How easy it was to flip a guard. How none of her special packages ever got caught in the security screenings. How she spent almost six years in big-girl prison and never got a serious beat-down. How the food made everyone sick except her.

“So Eunice was, what, putting vitamins in my food?” she finally asks, because that at least is something concrete that she can wrap her brain around.

“And iron. And fiber. And ginseng or some shit, but that part was her idea.”

“Jesus, Lou,” Debbie murmurs, finally looking up again.

Lou looks away, clearly uncomfortable. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

Lou sighs again, and brings her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Honestly, Deb? I didn’t think you’d care. I was just doing what I’ve always done.”

And that hits Debbie like a fist to the sternum, because Lou is right. She took care of Debbie, just like always, and Debbie took it all for granted.

Just like always.

“Lou--”

“I’m done talking about this,” Lou says abruptly, and pushes off the fridge with such force that it’s still rocking when her boots vanish from view at the top of the stairs.

Debbie recognizes belatedly that she’s put her foot in her mouth.

She also recognizes, as the Universe finally bludgeons her over the head with a clue, that Lou didn’t spend six years of her life separating stupid drunks from their money with watered-down vodka so she could help a friend. Even inserting the phrase  _ best friend _ into that scenario doesn’t make it work. If your best friend goes to prison you write her letters, send her cookies, maybe visit occasionally. You don’t pay off half a dozen people every week for years to make sure she has medical care and tampons and cigarettes and someone watching her back in the showers. You certainly don’t  _ have her meals spiked with vitamins, _ for fuck’s sake.

Irrationally, Debbie’s very first reaction is a surge of anger. She thought she was tough. She thought prison didn’t break her because she didn’t let it, and finding out that Lou was behind the scenes rigging the game the entire time is humbling in a way the Ocean ego doesn’t care for. But that ego is how Danny lost Tess (both times), and Debbie is self-aware enough to recognize it as a road she doesn’t want to travel any farther than she already has.

The anger drains away, and a wave of shame rises up to take its place. God, she’s been such a colossal asshole. She’s never said thank you to Lou, not for anything. She’s always pretended it didn’t need saying, not between such close friends. How many times over the years has she thoughtlessly rubbed Lou’s nose in that? A hundred? A thousand?

_ Yeah, Lou, I’m sleeping with Tammy, but it doesn’t mean anything. You’re still my best friend. _

_ That’s right, Lou, I didn’t tell you the whole plan. I don’t have to tell you every fucking little detail just because you’re my best friend. _

_ I can’t take another night of Bingo, Lou. I know you’re my best friend, but this just isn’t working anymore. _

_ For the love of God, Lou, his name is Claude, he’s an art dealer, he’s not the spawn of Satan. And could you maybe try being a tiny bit more supportive? You’re supposed to be my best friend. _

_ It’s only twenty grand, Lou. I know you can make that happen. I thought you were my best friend. _

Lou really should have let her rot in prison.


End file.
